America, Land of the Odor Free?

Of all the things that are going right for me, my neighborhood is certainly near the top of the list. The houses are situated close enough to one another so that if you're in trouble someone will hear your screams but far enough away so nobody can see you walking around in your underwear. In our last house in Washington, D.C. the houses were chock-a-block, tight enough to hear the frustrated mother who lived behind us bellow, "Alexander, get in here right now!" or "Alexander, get up here this minute!" several times a day.  (I still check the news daily to see if Alexander has finally snapped and gone on a murderous rampage, shutting her up once and for all.)

Inspector delivering a Warning Letter.

Situated as we are on two wooded acres, we have our own forest primeval right outside the back door. The cats love it. And we can do whatever we want on our property, chopping down a tree here, planting a vegetable garden there. We can also barbecue without fear of punishment.

What's that, you ask? Who would get in trouble for barbecuing in their own backyard? You might if you live in Florida, where the following law is on the books: "Commercial barbecue cookers are not exempt from causing a nuisance odor. If a sufficient number of complaints, representing different households, are reported and an Inspector witnesses the problem, they can issue a Warning Letter."

According to the fine print of that particular law, the cooking odors released by your burgers, franks, chicken or whatever must be contained within your property. I'm not sure what happens if you continue barbecuing after you get the Warning Letter, but it can't be good. Thinking back, I see now that I should have sent one of those Letters to Alexander's mother back in D.C.